


Work in Progress

by superbats



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Depression, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, been thinking abt this for a while, ill add more tags as shit happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22973557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superbats/pseuds/superbats
Summary: AU where McCree took a contract to kill Soldier: 76 after being informed by an unknown source that Soldier: 76 was Jack Morrison. However, they end up working together against a common enemy.orMcCree fucks up and feels like he owes Jack big time.
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Work in Progress

**Author's Note:**

> yes, the title is really “Work in Progress”  
> because of the relationship/dynamic being a work in progress between the boys

A dull hum filled the air as the air conditioner clicked on, filling the silence of the house with whitenoise. If Jack focused hard enough, tuning out his own heavy breathing and the faint creaks of his rickety chair when his body shifted, it was almost soothing.

The buzz of the air conditioning helped ease the adrenaline rush that’d flooded his body after being shot, allowing him to now properly assess the damage to his body, and think about the situation he was stuck in, sucking in the dry air in thick mouthfuls.

An ambush had caused this, the assailant unknown. Too long distanced to be Reaper, the man liked to be more up close and personal. Widowmaker had little interest in him. Their little hacker friend was out of the question, and Doomfist himself wouldn’t get his hands bloody with a meaningless assassination attempt out in the open. That left the doctor.

_Moira was never one for guns. She always inflicted pain in other ways._

It hurt like a bitch to even _breathe_ , though he knew if he managed to dig the bullet out of his side, he’d likely survive. _Likely._ A gamble he was willing to take at the moment.

While his healing factor was making an attempt to stop the blood loss with the help of his jacket pressed to his abdomen, he knew it wouldn’t stop until he’d removed the bullet lodged in his side, though with every passing second he felt himself growing weaker. 

_Vulnerable. Exposed._

It had taken nearly all of his energy to drag himself from the streets like a wounded animal, the screams of civilians filling the air as everyone panicked at the sound of gunfire, allowing him to hide himself in the mass disarray, slinking into an alley and attempting to lose himself within the town.

A silent prayer had been answered when he had barged into the home with brute force, thankful that no one was here to scream and call the police, or simply shoot him for breaking into their home. His assumptions about the place had been correct, it’d been abandoned recently, given the fact it still had running water and electricity with minor furnishings.

The air conditioner clicked off at the end of its cycle for the time being, and the silence was nearly deafening as only his uneasy breathing rattled through the air. Though, something felt _wrong._

Jack held his breath briefly, listening in utter silence to the house surrounding him, attempting to tune all his senses towards things other than his own sharp intakes of air, and the grinding of his teeth as he grit through the pain.

At first, he didn’t hear anything, but rather, he smelt something. Smoke. 

_Cigarettes._

The click of heels being dragged across linoleum, followed by a soft _tnk_ with each step, made Jack freeze, as if even the slightest movement would expose his position. He’d been smart enough to move to the second floor of the home once he’d broken in and ensured no one lived here, which meant that if someone else was here they were on the first floor. Which was his only means of escape, unless he felt like taking a head dive through a two-story window.

_Damn it._

Jack scrambled to his feet quickly, though it was _too_ quickly, nearly tumbling onto the floor as the lightheadedness of blood loss hit during his fast movements. This caused him to grip the chair as he staggered, and effectively knock it into the wall it’d been resting against, a loud thump resonating throughout the abandoned home, the silence all but broken.

_Shit._

“Last I heard, Jack Morrison was dead. Suppose that ain’t true, is it?” A voice drawled from below, muffled by the ceiling between them, meaning that the person was still on the first floor of the home. But the clatter of the chair giving away Jack’s whereabouts meant that they would be upstairs in no time.

Each subsequent step after the initial entrance of the individual was taken slowly. Calculated. _As though a predator were closing in on its prey._ The faint creak of the stairs that followed each _tnk_ was enough to make Jack jerk into movement, quickly shuffling across the room to where his rifle lay across the bed, snatching it up to check that it had ammunition. A brief moment of relief hit at the sight of the barrel being loaded. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Jack may be wounded, and cornered, but he would refuse to go down without a fight. 

Making his way over to the door, Jack’s vision blurred together into a splotchy mess of black dots, though he merely shook his head in an attempt to shake it off. Now was _not_ the time to pass out from blood loss.

Tucking himself behind the door, he waited, shaky fingers wrapped around the pulse rifle. 

_Stay alert. Come on, Morrison._

The faint _tnk_ came to a halt at the top of the stairs, and slowly strolled down the hallway, as though this were nothing more than another Saturday night. To the person, it might as well be for all Jack knows.

Sucking in a deep breath, Jack’s grip tightened around the weapon in his hands, and proceeded to plant a harsh kick against the door, swinging it outwards into the hall, and he lurched forwards into the open space.

Jack was hardly capable of even swivelling to plant his foot outside the doorway before a revolver was held to his temple, causing him to freeze. 

“Getting a little slow there,” The drawl sounded familiar now that there wasn’t a whole floor between them, and Jack dared to cast his gaze to the side, catching a glimpse of the man to his right, “You used to be faster than that.”

Aside from the revolver nearly pressing into his temple, the man’s facial hair was what caught Jack’s attention initially. It was well kept, though it seemed natural all the same. This was followed by taking in his tan features, and the circles that were cast below each hazel eye, as though lack of sleep was a common occurrence.

What took Jack aback was his _outfit_ , which consisted of a wide brimmed cowboy hat, chaps, and a metallic chest plate that _hissed_ as it released air. _Coolant?_ His gaze fixated on the red serape that draped over the man's left arm, though even from this angle he could tell that the arm was no longer flesh, but rather metal, but otherwise he was incapable of inspecting it. It didn’t look as though it was created by any major companies that specialized in cybernetic prosthetics.  
  
_McCree?_

It’d been far too long since Jack had seen the boy. How many years had it been since he’d last even _spoken_ to him? 

The frown that crossed the mans features made Jack question if he spoke aloud rather than simply thinking the name to himself. A puff of smoke was blown into his face, causing Jack to go into a coughing fit, features scrunching up with distaste at the smell and taste of tobacco.

A quirk of the lips, and a cheeky smile had quickly replaced that frown on the man's features in no time.

“Long time no see, Commander.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I'll update this whenever I feel like it so it might be a while, who knows
> 
> hope yall liked it tho!


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